Harry Potter and its characters, story, and everything else is © J. K. Rowling.
Brilliant but Scary
▼ Chapter Twenty Nine ▼
After the feast they had been released to return to their dorms, the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang instead returning to their carriage and ship respectively. Harry had been surprised, but Viktor had assured him that, while not the most pleasant, the accommodations were no worse than what they had back at their school. Harry wasn't sure if the older student was joking or not. When he'd asked Hermione, she had seemed to think he wasn't.
"Well, I'm glad we aren't going to Durmstrang, then," he'd remarked at that, and Hermione had giggled. She'd also said that the Beauxbatons carriage was likely better than theirs, based on what she'd read about them.
As they made their way to the Slytherin dungeons, and into the common room, most seemed willing to go off to bed, leaving a select few knots of students that were, for whatever reason, not ready to head up to their four-post beds and sleep.
One of these groups was composed of Harry, and Hermione, and Blaise, and Ginny, and, somewhat shockingly, Draco Malfoy, who apparently took it almost as a meeting of the Quidditch team, given Crabbe and Goyle had stuck around with him as well. Harry had caught a number of other students that seemed inclined to stick around, but thankfully hadn't piled on more.
Hermione also had to send Mafalda up, much to the little girl's chagrin. However, Hermione had insisted, saying she needed her sleep, and so the younger girl had finally relented, particularly after Harry had agreed. Though grumbling, she'd listened to them both and scampered up to sleep. Or, at least, pretend to while reading by wandlight, hidden beneath her covers.
Much like Hermione once had, he knew.
Truthfully, Harry was somewhat tired himself, though he wasn't entirely sure why; he hadn't done much of anything today, what with the short and rather boring classes, the preparations for the arrival and all the fussing of the teachers, and then the arrival and feast itself. It hadn't been particularly trying day. Still, given he was now sitting comfortably in front of the fire, Hermione in his lap, and friends around him? Well, sleep could wait a bit longer.
Even if Draco was there.
"I can't believe Viktor spent almost the entire feast talking with you, Potter," the boy said incredulously, "I'd expect someone of his stature to have better taste."
"I swear, Malfoy, the way you talk about it sounds more like a jealous schoolgirl," Blaise quipped in reply, earning a scowl from the blond, and a giggle from both Hermione and Ginny.
"Surprised you didn't spend more time with the Beauxbatons students, Zabini, isn't that where your family usually goes?"
Harry noted as Blaise eyes seemed to darken for a moment, a rather uncharacteristic look, but it passed as soon as it had come. He realized that he'd never talked much about Blaise' family, only in passing, and really only his mother. Harry knew his father had died, but it was hardly something to talk about, beyond feeling the strange kinship he seemed to feel with anyone who lost a parent. Harry also knew Blaise had family abroad, in Portugal, but only realized now what it must be to go to Hogwarts when all of the rest went somewhere else.
"I have a few cousins that go there, but thankfully none of them are here," Blaise replied, tone stoic despite the momentary flash of anger. Ginny was the one that took the bait.
"Thankfully? You don't want to see your family?" she asked, and a grin crept onto the boys face, even as his tone retained its utter deadpan flatness.
"No, it's just that it means more pretty girls that I don't have to feel bad about falling for me."
There was silence for a moment before Harry began to chuckle, joined soon after by most others. Even Draco was grinning, while Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be trying hard to suppress their own amusement. It was almost enough to make Harry forget he truly disliked the boy and wished he wasn't around. Almost.
"Good luck with that, Zabini," Draco said after a moment, but his eyes were on Harry, something wicked gleaming there, "They seemed to fancy Potter more than anyone."
"Only because he's a famous, rich, talented heir to an ancient family," Blaise said, waving his hand in mock dismissal, "But me? I'm beautiful. Frankly, he won't be able to compete."
"Of course, Blaise, I'm sure the whole lot of those significantly older girls will be swooning over you before long," Hermione said, and Harry was impressed by the sincerity she mustered despite grinning the whole time, "It may get violent, even. You must be careful. Love can make people act quite crazy."
"I'll do my best," quipped Blaise, looking solemn for a moment, earning more chuckles.
"Well, you're welcome to them, Blaise, I've already got my brilliant and beautiful witch," Harry declared, pulling Hermione close and drawing her in for a kiss. From the corner of his eye he could see Malfoy was near blanching as he watched, which Harry had to admit was a nice bonus on top of how nice it already was to kiss Hermione.
"I heard that some of the Beauxbatons students might have veela ancestry," Ginny said, revealing her talent for picking up gossip, some of which was even accurate.
"That would be rather odd," Hermione remarked, interrupting Ginny as she did. Her voice had adopted that tone that Harry liked to think of as an academic, but who others tended to call 'know it all,' which was unfair given how often Hermione actually did know it all about a topic, or at least near enough, "If anything I'd expect that from the Durmstrang students, seeing as veela are native to Bulgaria, like Krum."
"Well that's just what I've heard, and given how some of the boys were acting around them I believe it." Ginny had snapped it out, clearly annoyed.
"As if most boys need a reason to act like idiots around pretty girls," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. This time, though, it was Ginny's turn to put an air of mocking indifference.
"I'm just saying that someone like that being around might be hard to resist," she said, "Someone might get close to Harry and use her charms on him."
"Why is everyone always talking as if I'm going to leave Hermione," Harry said, voice tense and hot with controlled anger. He'd had enough of this, the little jabs and comments, the jokes. People acted as if somehow he was just going to leave, to 'grow out of it,' or something. As if somehow his relationships would just be another thing he couldn't control, dragged along when something new came along. He couldn't even think of it as something 'better' either; there was no better, not when it came to Hermione.
He didn't mention, either, the jokes of her leaving him. Those seemed to rise up in him, at a deeper place, a darker place. The thoughts brought him back, back to the study at 12 Grimmauld Place, where she said she never would, and they took him back to the lessons of the Patronus, back to that image of a cupboard, the horror of…
"It's alright," Hermione said, leaning in close, nuzzling into his neck. Harry saw that Ginny wasn't looking at him now, seemingly abashed. Harry didn't really feel bad, though; he was actually a little glad, even if that felt a bit mean, but he was tired of it all.
"It's alright, Harry," Hermione repeated, "She was just joking."
"Jokes are supposed to be funny," he replied harshly, only to feel that pang again as he watched Ginny flinch again. He was being harsh, wasn't he? Yet he didn't want to let go of that anger.
"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said, using her hand to turn his head towards her, "She didn't mean anything by it."
She kissed him then, softly, and only for a moment before she placed her head against his, "After all, she knows who you belong with."
Momentarily taken aback, he felt the small surge of anger, and the hidden pang of fear, flow out of him. Hermione was right, of course, as she so often was. Almost always, really.
"You're right," he said, and then turned to his friend, "Sorry, Ginny, I know you didn't mean it, and I wasn't really mad at you. Just… people."
She didn't reply, simply gave him a somewhat weak smile that made him feel worse about his outburst. After all, didn't she get enough of that from Ron? Or, well, he thought so, not having actually seen the boy around much, not after that little spat at the beginning of the year. Well, he'd seen him, in the sense that they attended the same classes and the like, but there hadn't been much of any interaction between Ginny and her brother that he'd known of.
Admittedly, Harry spent most of his time around Hermione, Blaise, and then Ginny, in that order, with Ginny being the third largely due to her being a year behind them, as well as having a somewhat more expansive group of friends; beyond spending time around Draco's group she also had others from her own year, and of other houses. That was good, too, because the less time she was around Draco the better. Harry could only tolerate the boy in short doses, and even if Ginny might be a good influence on the boy he rather worried that he might be a bad influence on her.
Harry looked around the common room, wondering if anyone else had been watching, but the room had been clearing out bit by bit, with the few stragglers being engrossed in either something else or someone else.
"Personally, I mostly intend to talk to the Durmstrang students," Draco said suddenly, drawing the attention back to him. Eyeing him, Harry wondered if Malfoy was merely being narcissistic in bringing attention to himself or intentionally changing the subject. He watched as Ginny perked up a bit, happy to have the subject changed.
"Why do you say that" Harry asked, willing to indulge the boy for the sake of a friend. Draco seemed pleased, puffing himself up before continuing.
"Because, Potter, at Durmstrang they actually teach the dark arts, not just defense against them. My father even considered sending me there, even, because of their practical studies. It's all just silly biases and fears that stop the study here."
"The dark arts are a silly term anyway, because really any sort of hex or jinx or curse should be consider them if they were being consistent," Hermione said, barely missing a beat. Harry revelled in the look of surprise on Draco's face; the blond was always underestimating Hermione in new and interesting ways. She smiled in faux sweetness, looking at Malfoy direct as she spoke, "Of course many people aren't responsible enough to learn those things, so I can understand why they don't teach them here, even if they shouldn't be forbidden."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed at the barely veiled slight, but Harry jumped in before he could respond, "Don't be so surprised, Malfoy; Hermione loves magic of all kinds, after all, and she's the best at it."
Images of Hermione hexing Malfoy danced in Harry's mind, a bonus on the investment of buying her so many books. The primary benefit was, of course, because it made her happy, but the potential of her, say, transforming the snotty blue blood into a ferret was amusing to think about. Draco, it seemed, hadn't been paying attention to Hermione's reading habits. Then again, Hermione was obviously not an idiot, and hadn't exactly advertised her collection or her knowledge. Even Harry realized that would have complicated things, so to speak.
Which was silly, of course; it was purely academic! Harry, however, was fully aware that the world was not fair.
"It would be interesting to talk to some of them, though," Hermione said after a moment, thoughtful look, "I am curious about what they know, might be able to learn some things."
At that, Harry felt a pang of something, something he hadn't really felt much before, but reminded him of the feel the got when Viktor Krum's gaze had lingered a bit long, and, oddly, made him think of Neville. His arms tightened around his girlfriend involuntarily, eyes suddenly a bit fierce.
"They can't measure up to Harry, of course," Hermione said, as if reading his mind, and seeming to revel in his grasp, "But then again, who can?"
Hermione sat at the Slytherin table, practically on top of Harry, who seemed very eager to keep her exceptionally close. Viktor Krum had once again chosen to sit across from them, mostly speaking to Harry with occasional questions for her, and Harry seemed to tense every so slightly when he did, pull her ever so closer, and send a shiver up her spine as she saw the possessive look gleam in her Harry's emerald eyes. There was a part of her that felt she should perhaps not enjoy that so much.
There was another that rather wickedly wanted to inspire yet more of that gleam.
For now though, she mostly contented herself by going over a text that was agreeable for public consumption and evaluate the room, responding only when asked something or other.
Mafalda had been right, two feast days in a row were something of an oddity. The mood seemed oddly subdued, though Hermione wasn't sure if that was because of the consecutive feasts dampening things or merely a sense of gravity due to the strange magical artifact set upon a pedestal for all to see. The Goblet of Fire was strange, too, and Hermione found it infinitely more interesting than the tournament itself; a simple wooden cup whose edge danced with blue flames, kept in a jewelled casket far more fine than the cup itself. It felt old, weighty, and powerful.
It also was able to create binding magical contracts, the details of which she noted had not been fully discussed by the headmaster. He had mentioned the age line spell around it, though; the glowing script of unknown text that she knew worked by the several notable failures that hadn't been secret. Not the least of these were the Weasley twins, who attempted to use an aging potions to pass, only to have the circle cause its effect to run rampant. The pair were still in the hospital ward, having long white beards and the other effects of their potion use reversed.
What wasn't being spoken of much was the fact they'd brewed those potions themselves, in less than a day. Not for the first time Hermione considered how terrible they those two would be if they turned their mind to darker things than petty bullying and pranks.
The Goblet sat, drawing glances from more than just her, though likely for far different reasons.
Was it intelligent, like the Sorting Hat? Dumbledore had spoken of it as an 'impartial judge,' which implied some degree of decision making. How would it know, though, if merely the act of placing your name into its flames was enough for it to decide? Was it random? Unlikely; nothing was ever so simple in the wizarding world. Things often seemed not to make sense, or at least made a different sort of sense than she was used to, but they were never simple.
"What do you think, Hermione?" Viktor aspect, and she noted his pronunciation was more like that of the original Greek, so near to his native Bulgaria, than her own. Was that intentional or reflex? Harry's hand, resting on her leg, squeezed slightly, and between her thoughts on the goblet and that little delight she hadn't the foggiest clue what the topic had been.
"I'm sorry, I was distracted," she said simply, turning instead to Harry, "What was the topic?"
"If goblins should be allowed to have wands," Harry replied quickly, pleased she'd asked him. Whatever she was expecting, it hadn't been that. Harry, true to his nature, read her confusion in an instant, "There has been a push to allow goblins to play professional Quidditch, and the topic just sort of… grew."
Hermione thought on that for a moment before she turned to Viktor, face mostly blank, "I take it you disagree with goblin's having wands?"
"Yes," the Bulgarian said, taking a moment before her continued stare made him realize he was expected to say more. His tone was immediately defensive, if calm, "Goblins have fought wars against wizards for ages."
"And one of the reasons for that was the ban on wands," she replied quickly, though her expression was still somewhat flat, and intentionally so, "That and their cultural views on property."
"I do not like the idea of making future enemies stronger," Viktor declared, leaning back as he did. Harry, his one arm still wrapped around her, seemed to want to pull her even closer. Hermione finally let an expression through, one of almost patronizing disappointment.
"We trust them with our money but not with wands," she said, using that tone Harry called academic, though others called bossy. To her surprise, Viktor didn't baulk, which surprised her. He seemed rather thoughtful, instead, seemed about to say something before the voice of the headmaster began to carry through the hall.
"The time has come that I know you have been waiting for," Dumbledore said, drawing all eyes to him. He stood near the cup, and immediately the various murmurs and discussions died down immediately, the room not so much calm as simply tense, like a coiled spring set and ready. He turned to the cup, and Hermione watched in fascination as the blue flames began to dance and then flare a bright red, and seemed to spit out a piece of charred paper.
The headmaster snatched the paper, bringing it up to his eyes for a moment before nodding.
"The Champion from Durmstrang," he began, allowing a moment as eyes turned to where they were sitting, "Is Viktor Krum!"
The table exploded into cheers and congratulations, both from students from Hogwarts and Viktor's fellows from Durmstrang. Hermione noted as well that there were cheers from other sections of the hall as well, not the least was from the Gryffindor table, where Ron Weasley led cheers that she suspected might be louder than those for the Hogwarts champion. Viktor stood and made his way over to where the champions were to be seated.
Harry, she noted, was cheering too, though seemed to have an odd look as he watched the older student go.
Cheers only died away when the fires of the goblet once again flared red, and another piece was snatched from the air. He read it, once again pausing for the attention to shift.
"The champion from Beauxbatons… is Fleur Delacour!"
The cheers were more reserved, perhaps befitting the more august demeanor of the French academy, though from the male quarters of the other schools it seemed far more raucous, dying only as the girl began to walk. Hermione watched, wondering if Ginny's comment about veela was not so far off the mark; the girl was gorgeous, she could admit, and Hermione wondered if she'd been one to flash Harry eyes. Hopefully not; it would have been somewhat obscene, really, given her age. It would have been nearly as bad as those girls that fawned over teachers, like the ones with Professor Lupin or Lockhart.
There were also those strange few that seemed to have a thing for Professor Snape, of all people. Those confused her the most of all.
She glanced over at Harry, noting he seemed oddly reserved as he watched the girl walk, and Hermione felt a pang of jealousy as her boyfriend clearly fought to keep himself from paying too much attention, even as she felt happy he was fighting at all. Thankfully, as Dumbledore brought the attention back to him as the goblet once again flared, and Dumbledore snatched the last name from the air.
"And the Champion from Hogwarts is…" he said, eyes roving the room, sweeping over each table before settling… on that of Hufflepuff, "Is Cedric Diggory!"
Now there were cheers, from Hufflepuff of course, but from all of Hogwarts. Cedric was well known among the school, and well liked. Kind and popular, he was an excellent student as well. He was also, Hermione noted, rather notably unattached. She knew he had taken Neville under his wing, and wondered how much of the younger boys new demeanor was because of Cedric, or in spite of it. Neville seemed to be cheering the most of all. Harry had joined in as well, and Hermione knew he liked the older boy, even if they weren't really friends, simply due to the gap of age.
She watched the boy move up next to the other champions, though, and remembered something else. Her eyes darted for a moment, over to the Ravenclaw table, and she was pleased by what she saw. Cho Chang, the fifth year that had been giving her Harry rather untoward looks, was now watching Cedric with much of the same. That was good, encouraging even. Hermione looked over towards the Hufflepuff table again, spotting Neville. Yes, that could be useful too…
Glancing back up at where the three champions sat, though, she began to frown ever so slightly. The Beauxbatons champion, though… that might be more of an issue. She didn't think anything would come of it, of course. She knew it, in fact. Yes, knew it. It wouldn't hurt to be safe though, it never hurt to be safe. However, there was one idea, one little scheme she had in mind that might work perfectly.
Idly, she snuggled in closer to Harry and let out a sigh. For his part, Harry seemed to puff up at it, planting a kiss into her hair, his arm still curled tight around her.
Yes, everything would be just fine.
She would make sure of it.